Becoming Light
“Because my mother’s minutes were sucked into the roar of the vacuum cleaner, because she waltzed with the washer-dryer & tore her hair waiting for repairmen— I send out my laundry, & live in a dusty house, though really I like clean houses as well as anyone.
I am woman enough to love the kneading of bread as much as the feel of typewriter keys under my fingers— springy, springy.
& the smell of clean laundry & simmering soup are almost as dear to me as the smell of paper and ink.
I wish there we...re not a choice; I wish I could be two women.
I wish the days could be longer.
But they are short.
So I write while the dust piles up.MoreLess
I am woman enough to love the kneading of bread as much as the feel of typewriter keys under my fingers— springy, springy.
& the smell of clean laundry & simmering soup are almost as dear to me as the smell of paper and ink.
I wish there we...re not a choice; I wish I could be two women.
I wish the days could be longer.
But they are short.
So I write while the dust piles up.MoreLess
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